


if you're gonna be the death of me, that's how i wanna go

by sincerelysamedt



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Intimacy, Kissing, M/M, Tension, Threats as Affection, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelysamedt/pseuds/sincerelysamedt
Summary: Watch out for them, Killua-dear, and do not let them go.An arm catches around his waist, under the jacket, palm on his hip, metal to his throat.Of course."Dance with me?"
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 17
Kudos: 79





	if you're gonna be the death of me, that's how i wanna go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reeyachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeyachan/gifts), [telrxnya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telrxnya/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mafia AU Art](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/695083) by misted_8. 



> The title is from "Collar Full" by Panic! At The Disco, and I hope you both enjoy this.

It's a lovely night for a banquet, at least that's what Alluka had said, twirling in her new dress-- seashell-blush red to match Nanika's sea-water blue. A match for every pair, it had been lovelier to watch them twirl in their room, safe.

They are here now, somewhere, bejeweled stars lost in the crowd. _Let them have their fun,_ Mother had said, as if she would not hem and haw between agony and euphoria if so much as an earring went missing from either of the twins' ears.

It's an incentive, really, or rather motivation-threat- _do as I say or else._ Very motherly of Mother if sending lambs into a lit slaughterhouse is in any way nurturing.

 _Watch out for your sisters, Killua-dear,_ she had said while undoing his tie only to retie it again, under the collar and up against the throat, button your top button, dear.

These are the family's associates. Trifling but exploitable. The hungry do not bite the hand that feeds them as long as they are fed well, even if the other hand holds the leashes to their collars.

None of them would even bother, much less fathom, laying a clipped-off fingernail on Alluka and Nanika Zoldyck's heads. Mother did not mean them.

She meant the Hunters.

The Association is ruthless but not cruel, not the kind of cruelty Killua knows under tables and under warehouse lamps, the kind that steals fathers from children over numbers that don't add up the way they are meant to, the kind that soaks through leather. But the Association is ruthless nonetheless, and Netero is a strange old man, easily amused and difficult to entertain.

Taking two little girls to draw out the Zoldyck family's heir is one such simple amusement for the Chairperson of the Association.

_Watch out for them, Killua-dear, and do not let them go._

An arm catches around his waist, under the jacket, palm on his hip, metal to his throat.

Of course.

"Dance with me?" His captor says, not asks in spite of the soft, lilting way he phrases it. A question provides the option for refusal and a gun to the throat when requesting breaks no argument.

Killua slips his hand under his coat, into the spaces between the man's grip on his ribs, digging nails into bone. He had liked the way the girls had done his nails for the evening, it's such a shame to chip the shimmery periwinkle so soon. Alluka was right, he should have gone for the clear coat.

"I'd love to."

* * *

With all due respect, Freecs hides the gun well, easily mistakable for a smitten lover's caress rather than a death threat.

"You actually look decent." Killua comments, sidestepping another pair as they move. No coordination or awareness, this one, he can't have dressed himself. The cut is too sleek, emerald-green tie silken and neatly-knotted and tucked into a sharp black blazer. _Warm_ black, even, red undertones that suit him, yes, Freecs could not have possibly pulled this off on his own.

"Aw, were you expecting me, _cielito?"_ The short barrel nudges his jaw up, _a gun_ , when has Freecs ever used guns, baring the jumping vein of his neck.

He snorts. "Hardly."

"But you were looking for me." A wandering, _nosy_ hand trails up from his hip, under his pinstriped jacket, splaying open-palmed on the small of his back right over his spine. This is the Freecs he's more familiar with, claws and teeth and ruthless though uncruel. The type to strike a limping horse between the eyes without blinking, leave carrot sticks and apple slices in its stable.

"I was looking for your people." Killua answers, twisting under Freecs' arm to fall against his chest just as the ballroom music swells, dislodging the weapon and landing his switchblade right over Freecs' heart. It's iridescent, psychedelic under the chandelier, a gift from Kalluto. The corsage tucked in Freecs' pocket, large and blue as it is, won't save him.

The bastard just pulls Killua in closer, the tip of the blade cutting through petals and thorns into a frankly nice suit. Regrettable to be bled on.

"And you found us, _cielito_ . Congratulations~!" Freecs sways them both with an arm around his waist, chin on his shoulder, gun to his ear. He even wore _cologne_ for fuck's sake, the kind that burns in the throat like a shot of bourbon. Gross.

"Or, well, I found you." Freecs brightly declares, the arm on his torso squeezing ruthlessly tight, enough to cut off air and turn his stomach, freefall when he trips over their feet. Caught mid-air and hoisted back up nose to nose, knife to heart, bullet to cheek.

"So, really, you should be congratulating me."

"If I do, will you stop _breathing_ on me, Hunter?" Killua snipes, pressing his blade in deeper and regretfully slicing through more of the beautiful fabric. Kalluto would be so upset over the loss, but they would understand if they had a Hunter exhaling all over them while he gloated over his catch, damp and warm and sticky on the skin. He'll make it up to Kalluto, a dead man would have no need for such a nice suit. Kalluto could cut it into strips, make dresses for their paper dolls.

The barrel touches at his earlobe, a gentle but stark reminder. Sugar cubes and mallets to the forehead.

"I think you're forgetting who has who, _cielito."_

Bringing a knife to a gun fight is better than nothing, but Illumi will still be so disappointed. One gets a hole through the skull, the other gets his only set of nice clothes nicked. Killua may be fast, has to be as heir, but even he isn't fast enough to stop a bullet point blank to the face.

Still, he does not withdraw.

"Not the girls." He demands, one step, two steps, out of the crowd and into the sidelines. Alluka flourishes with an audience and Nanika flourishes beside Alluka. If things with the Hunter eventually, inevitably escalate, he won't let the twins get caught in the crosshairs. He'll take Freecs with him crashing out the window if he has to.

"The girls?" Freecs blinks, finger on the trigger and still letting Killua lead them backwards, latched on like a limpet, still _breathing_ on his face when his eyes-- golden, brown, smelted and tempered-- widen, _oh._

"Killua." Freecs leans over, around him, shoving Killua's blade in deeper, stopping them both with Freecs' back to a pillar.

The gun forces his face sideways, right into the Hunter's space, with his goddamned breath on his cheek. Of course the Hunter would use cinnamon-flavored toothpaste. The chill of metal dragging up from behind his ear, settling on the top of his head, has him shivering. Hairgel won't save him just as a corsage would not save Freecs.

“I'd never use your sisters." Insistent. Adamant. He's always hated Gon Freecs' eyes, unnatural and bioluminescent. Like a treasure, like an arsenal. Animalistic.

Killua refuses to dip his head any lower, even with the insistent, demanding, feral pressure of the gun on his head pushing on him, refuses to look away, _eat me whole and lick my bones, coward, I will not bend._

"Isn't that why you're here?" _For the Association. For the Chairperson. For the Hunters you left me for._ His grip on the switchblade tightens, one clean blow to the heart, let Mike take care of the mess, don't forget the jacket, it's nice enough for Kalluto to play with.

Freecs pouts; sharp teeth, bright eyes, cinnamon burning on the mouth.

The gun clatters to the marble flooring with the knife Killua drops when Gon fists at his hair, _you were right, hairgel won't save you now,_ and drags him down, puppy on your pantsleg, wolf gnawing on the heel of your foot, _swallow my bones._

Cinnamon toothpaste is an _atrocity_ even on the tongue of a beautiful, horrible boy, spice and mint and bourbon-cologne eating away at the inside of his nose. Gon won't let up, a Hunter and a conqueror, nails in the meat of his brain, _this is how I know you to be, your fingers on my spine, unhindered and bared._

An all-in-all stellar kiss from someone who didn't even style his own hair, sharp gasp from periwinkle nails on meat breaking the contact, _good, bleed,_ brutal predator fingers going tight and unforgiving on his scalp.

"It wasn't even loaded, was it?"

"Of course not."

"Not really your style, huh?"

"No."

"You're pathetic." Killua snarls, red dapples on the sparkles, dulling their shine, and even if Nanika will feel sad when she sees it, Killua digs in deeper.

"It's not my fault you fell for it." Gon ducks out of sight, glitter in his wounds as he noses at his jaw, up the curve, landing just under his ear, freezing and _loud_.

He's upset. There's a gun on the floor, Kalluto's present beside it, and he's upset mad _furious,_ something stinging on his mouth (so much _teeth,_ god, and _cinnamon_ ), bubbling in his stomach, like winding up for a punch.

"Had to use a gun, pretty sad if you ask me." Killua won't turn for him, won't tip his head, won't bare his throat, sinks his claws in flesh, glitter in Hunter blood, _make me._

"Only way to get you to stay still." He says, smitten-caress death threat tugging on the crystal pierced through his earlobe. Push too hard and Illumi will come flying, rapier through the temple, a dead man in a nice suit, save it for Kalluto.

"I'm here for _you_ , _cielito."_ The dead man in a nice suit tells him, traitor's kiss, lover's touch, make a meal of my marrow and live through the night.

Gon finally releases him and there is no need to leap through the window, land on my spine your shoes are too nice to be scuffed. Tips his head by the chin, and blows cinnamon-mint-promise on his front teeth.

"And I will get you next time. _"_

_(youleftmeyouleftmeyouleftmeyouleftme)_

Red, rose-red, corsages and lip gloss, across Gon's golden cheek and smothered on his bottom lip, threat-caress- _promise._

"Try." Killua says, the gun and the blade sliding on marble as he goes, _pick the meat off my heart, first._

**Author's Note:**

> Cielito means "little sky" in Spanish. Latino Gon, please.


End file.
